


A Dangerous Game

by days4daisy



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Clothed Sex, Deepthroating, Hair-pulling, M/M, Mind Games, SmutSwap treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-17 12:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10594224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: Krennic is skeptical when he hears that Galen has resumed his work.He is doubly skeptical when he receives a hail from Eadu. Galen has requested to meet with him in person.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosecake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosecake/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy this, rosecake! I loved your prompts :)

For three standard months, Galen Erso does not see anyone. He is free to leave his quarters and peruse the scientific facility on Eadu. Take meals with his co-workers and view holo-vids of the latest galactic news; all, of course, with an Imperial slant. But Galen chooses to remain behind closed doors. A self-imposed solitary, no company beyond his own insatiable mind.

Krennic does not visit Eadu, but he asks after Galen through third parties. Grief, he knows, is not enough to drive a man of Galen’s prowess mad. But unoccupied time? That's another matter. 

After three months, Galen deems himself ready to work. No one bats an eye when Galen enters the laboratory as a uniformed officer. The Imperial guards, armed with threats about Erso’s daughter, lack the need to use them. Galen resumes his research on the Death Star with gusto. It's as if the loss of his wife left a gap that only work will fill.

Krennic is skeptical when he hears Galen has returned to the project. He trusted that Galen would see reason, of course. But this change of heart seems sudden.

Krennic is doubly skeptical when he receives a hail from Eadu. Galen has requested to meet with him in person.

Krennic goes, because he needs to gauge Galen’s intentions for himself. When he arrives, he is welcomed by the sight of Galen Erso in Imperial dress. The uniform sits crisp on a body that grew too accustomed to farm robes on Lah'mu. His hair is short, and his face is clean-shaved. The smooth skin erases years of age, or maybe Galen's return to work is to thank for his youthful glow.

Galen greets Krennic in the lab with a smile. “Director.”

Krennic is taken aback. But he is a man of many strengths, one of which is playing along as necessary. “Please, Galen!” he chides kindly. “Save the formalities.”

Behind them, Galen's team flocks around a holo-image; the Death Star blueprints, Krennic realizes. The scientists are making notes on data pads and mumbling to each other. Far past the prime of their lives, the whole lot. None even close to the wisdom of Galen Erso.

“I'd hoped we could have a word in private,” Galen says.

In private? Galen thinks he can best Krennic one-on-one and find some way off Eadu, is that it?

Krennic’s expression does not reflect his concern. “Would my office suffice?” His office is within earshot of the guards’ quarters, and Krennic stores a collection of blasters in the room. Not counting, of course, the pistol strapped to his waist now. Krennic hopes he will not be given cause to use them. Tumultuous past aside, Krennic is still fond of Galen. Perhaps more than he should be.

“Of course” Galen agrees, a hand waved towards the door. “After you.”

Galen falls in line as they tread the steel grate floors of Eadu station. The train of Krennic’s cape brushes Galen’s legs. “I must say," Krennic admits, "I was surprised to hear that you’d resumed the work so quickly.”

"Oh?" Galen reacts as casually as he might to a conversation about the weather. “You’ve never known me to sit idle for long.”

Galen is smarter than this, but Krennic does not call him on it. Instead, he affects concern. “I'm worried for your welfare, Galen," he says. "You’ve been through a lot these past few months.”

“I need the work now more than ever.” It’s not that the words ring false, per se. There was a time in Galen’s life when work was his primary focus; happy memories for Krennic. Their relationship was never closer than it was in those days. But Galen's priorities changed upon acquiring a family. Krennic is not foolish enough to think Galen’s motivations have reversed so abruptly.

Still, he’s intrigued enough to keep up the charade. “The uniform suits you," he says. "You’re where you should be.”

Krennic’s office is large and lacks windows. Its blazing white decor stands in contrast to the exterior of the facility - slabs of gray rock stretching towards stormy skies. Krennic fits perfectly within the room's spotlessness. Galen less so, though he manages better than he would have after Lah’mu. Sweat and tear-stained, clasped hands shaking as Lyra's no-grav case was escorted from their transport.

Krennic takes his place beside his desk. Galen stands at attention before him, arms linked behind his back. “At ease, for god’s sake,” Krennic admonishes. “I told you to spare the formalities, didn’t I?” Obediently, Galen’s hands relax to his sides. They’re empty, Krennic notes. No surprise weapons or other tricks. In what way, then, will Galen try to escape?

“You’ve made remarkable progress in my absence,” Galen says.

Krennic shakes his head. “The design of the structure was never the issue. It was our ability to harness the power required by the weapon. Our techs have not been able to contain it. That’s why we need your expertise, Galen.” He chooses his words with purpose. _Need_. Galen is _needed_ here.

“The design was not an issue because you were here to design it,” Galen points out. “I’ve seen your touch in the blueprints, Krennic. You would have figured out the conduction too, without me.”

It’s true, or they would have burned out every engineer in the galaxy until they found one who could match even half of Galen's insights. Krennic smiles patiently. “At much greater risk and delay. You are our best hope.”

Galen matches his smile. “Will you take my compliment, or do you require more flattery first?”

What game is Galen playing now? “Thank you, in that case.” Krennic does not mask his skepticism. “What did you want to see me about?”

“I wanted to see you because a visit seemed overdue,” Galen replies. His expression grows serious. “You were aware that I’d resumed work on the project. I expected you to look in on our progress. But we heard nothing.”

“Construction of the station is daunting, as you can imagine,” Krennic answers carefully. “I lose time by being here.”

Galen nods. “I understand the severity of losing time.” He glances around Krennic’s office; its cleanliness, its lack of use.

Krennic covers his suspicions with a softer expression. “You're right, Galen. I should have come to see you.” He clears his throat. “You should know, I’ve praised your resilience to the Imperial command. I’ve even sent word to Lord Vader commending your expedient return to the project.”

“I would very much like to meet him one day,” Galen says.

Krennic doubts this. He, of course, sees the value in access to the Emperor’s right hand man. The meddlesome Tarkin has done all in his power to sway Vader’s favor, which has put Krennic at a disadvantage. Krennic requires the same audience to stay ahead of the game. But Vader is dangerous. Man or machine, whatever he is now, Vader merits caution at all times. “One day, perhaps,” Krennic allows. 

“I know the incredible pressure you must be under," Galen continues. "My absence has not aided your cause, I'm sure. I’ve-” he averts his eyes. “-had regrets, Krennic.”

It isn’t like Galen to look away from him. Krennic's suspicions mount. Is some other ploy at work? Has Galen already set his plan into motion? “Regrets? Leaving the project, you mean?”

“Yes. I allowed myself to chase impossible dreams. In my weakness, I've lost Lyra. Jyn too. And you.”

Krennic frowns. “Me?”

“Yes. We were friends once, you and I.” Galen looks at him pointedly. “Or have you forgotten?” A crease of sincerity folds between his brows.

This game has become too perplexing to be fun. “Given our history, you can’t blame me for having doubts.” Bitterness bites through Krennic's words.

“I can’t,” Galen agrees. “That’s why I needed you to come to Eadu, Orson.” How long has it been since Galen used Krennic's first name? “What I want to say could not be conveyed by recorded message.”

Krennic’s eyes narrow. “What _do_ you want to say?” The hands that take his are not the attack he expects.

Galen's mouth forms a line of contrition. “I was wrong,” he says. “I hope one day you’ll be able to forgive me.” Working the land has worn blisters into his skin. Veins stand more pronounced on the tops of his hands.

Krennic’s mouth curls, all malice. “What could I possibly have to forgive you for? You were only doing what you thought was right.”

“Don’t.” Galen’s grip tightens, rasping against his gloved fingers. “I turned to fantasies that would have driven us mad as young men. I lost Lyra for those ideals. I lost Jyn.” He releases Krennic’s hands. “And I’ve lost you, I’m afraid.”

“Was I ever yours to lose?” Krennic mutters.

“Yes,” Galen insists. “I haven’t forgotten-”

“Perhaps you should,” Krennic snaps. “Perhaps these distractions are what led to your failures in the first place.” Galen bears his temper without comment, head raised and eyes still. 

His silence extinguishes Krennic's ire with a sigh. What suffering he’s endured through the years because of this man. If it weren’t for that brilliant mind, Krennic would have ended this charade years ago. But...Galen _is_ brilliant. A stubborn, incomparable thing. Aggravating and irreplaceable.

“Will you accept my apology?” Galen asks.

“Is this why you wanted to meet in private? Your work is far more importa-” Krennic's eyes widen when the space between them disappears. Galen’s mouth closes in, Krennic's face between his hands. Caught off guard, Krennic’s weight collides with the desk. His hand flattens on the wood surface for balance.

Krennic's lips are left agape when he’s released. Anger quickly overwhelms his shock. “What is this?” Krennic’s voice is barely audible. His face is still cupped between Galen's palms.

Galen’s expression tightens. “Your work has surrounded me since I resumed the project, Orson. Every day, I’ve seen your sketches, your measurements, your calculations. You’ve been in every minute.”

“More flattery?” Krennic's skin crawls under his immaculate clothing.

Galen’s answer is worse than flattery. A frustrated grunt and a lowered head. “You’re right to be angry with me.”

Of course Krennic is right to be angry! How much time has Krennic lost because of Galen Erso? A pointless pursuit!

The worst of it is that Krennic still itches to touch him. He wonders if Galen's body has maintained its runner’s leanness. Even now, he remembers the rapt attention of Galen's mouth in their youth. A man of Galen's prowess pursues the body as ravenously as he does knowledge. He is a catalogue of touches able to turn even someone of Krennic’s bravado to incoherence. Krennic has never found anyone like him. His empty searches have only fed his bitterness.

“You don’t believe me.” Galen's eyes harden. “But I can convince you.”

“Yes,” Krennic agrees sourly. “By returning to your post.”

“Are you ordering me to leave?”

It would be the smart thing, yes. Send Erso back to his lab. Monitor his work for any sign of deceit. A man of Galen's intellect is capable of sabotage on a scale even Krennic cannot fathom. He knows better than to let his guard down.

But a whisper in the back of Krennic’s mind wants to test the sincerity of Galen’s interest. Even if this setup is a ruse, isn't there some way to use it against him? After a moment of deliberation, Krennic huffs. “No, I’m not ordering you to leave. But I fail to see the point, Galen.”

Galen’s gaze levels on him. “You'll let me convince you, then?”

Krennic rolls his eyes. “Since when do you need permission?”

“This is all new. You are my superior, director. I need to be sure we understand each other.”

His superior. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Krennic plays over the way his title sounds in Galen's voice. 'Director,' clipped in the brusqueness of his accent. What else will Galen do to honor his status?

Krennic puts on his most nonchalant expression. “Very well.” He does not wrap his mind around what he's agreed to until Galen sets a curled hand on his stomach. Galen's second kiss is less insistent than the first. A cautious press of lips, easing into their contact. His fingers trace an edge of Krennic's holster belt.

His proximity to the weapon makes Krennic uneasy. He unfastens his belt and tosses it, and his blaster, to the safety of his office chair. With the weapon at a safe distance, he expects Galen’s interest to taper. But Krennic feels him smile instead, seconds before he greets more of Galen’s weight. Galen’s arm hooks around his waist, fingers tangling into his cape.

His body is as taut as Krennic remembers. His jaw is strong as ever. His hair has been shorn to the ears but is still easy to knot gloved fingers into. Krennic pulls until Galen is forced to tip his head back. Then, Krennic pursues with greater force. He remembers when they were young men, tangled in bedsheets from one apartment to the next. It was so easy back then to lose himself in Galen's mouth.

But Krennic can no longer afford a position of weakness with Galen Erso. Reluctantly, he flattens hands on Galen's chest and eases him back. At Galen’s questioning look, he cocks his head. “You said you would convince me, Galen. So convince me.”

“Am I not?” Galen asks. His forehead furrows, a sign of that glorious mind at work.

Krennic goads him, “Are you?”

With narrowed eyes, Galen pursues, stepping into Krennic’s space. As director, Krennic is not accustomed to having his boundaries threatened, except by a select few. Lord Vader, for one. The agitator Tarkin, another.

And now, by Galen. Fingers trace Krennic's uniform tunic. Krennic remains where he is, expression steady. But oh, it’s difficult. As Galen’s hand descends, Krennic receives a wealth of happy memories. His mind has done its best to cast Erso out over the years, but to his body Galen is very much alive.

“May I kiss you again?” Galen asks.

This need for permission is working for Krennic. His smile reflects his approval. “If it will help you convince me.”

Galen cups Krennic’s jaw and urges him forward. Krennic indulges in the stroke of Galen’s body against his. The slow rub of uniforms, the thickness of Galen’s legs pressed to his own. Galen's hand drifts downward, tracing the zipper of his trousers.

Krennic hears the pluck of fingers against metal. “Will you ask permission for that as well?” he asks.

“If it will help to convince you,” Galen replies. He’s serious, holding Krennic’s eyes as he eases the zipper down. Krennic’s gloved thumb hooks on his chin, forcing his head back. At this better angle, Krennic examines his jawline. He feels Galen swallow, a jump of his Adam’s apple. Galen urges Krennic's slacks down. His hand replaces the fabric, a flat palm over the crotch of his underwear. Krennic's shape fills his fingers, separated by cotton.

Krennic hums his approval. “I assume I get to see you as well?”

Galen shakes his head. “I’m not the one who needs convincing.” Then, he bends to his knees. Age has begun to take its toll on Galen. The discomfort of kneeling on hard tile is visible on his face.

Still, it’s beyond anything Krennic could have imagined. Galen Erso, on his knees in Imperial uniform, hooking fingers into Krennic’s underwear. Krennic traces gloved fingers down the side of his face. Galen’s eyes are patient, his mouth set in a relaxed line. 

“Is this what you want?” Krennic asks. 

“Yes,” Galen answers. “I want to convince you.”

It isn’t the question Krennic proposed, but he allows the response to stand. Galen bows towards his gloved touch, and his eyes close with content. It’s an impossible circumstance, one that makes no more sense than Galen fleeing from him in the first place.

“In that case,” Krennic shrugs, “carry on.”

Krennic still isn't convinced of Galen's sincerity. He doubts it until Galen actually winds a hand around his cock. Krennic's interest is clear, half-erect before Galen’s ready mouth. Galen steadies him with a thumb and guides him towards his lips. His mouth parts in a slender oval. Krennic spies the tip of his tongue lowering to greet him. He clenches leather-clad fingers in Galen's hair and braces his weight against the edge of the desk. His cape fans beneath him, separating skin and wood. 

Galen curls his mouth around the crown. A succulent circle, lips pulled to accommodate him. His cheeks sink in, the bones pronounced. His eyes remain closed. Krennic’s hand tightens in his hair. Galen’s tongue slides across the slit. He suckles patiently on the cockhead, allowing Krennic time to thicken between his lips. It doesn’t take long. The sight of Galen Erso on his knees is beyond comprehension.

Galen’s hand opens to accommodate Krennic’s full arousal. His head inches down, mouth forced to loop wider. Krennic watches, expression schooled to patient approval. But he cannot hide his fascination entirely. Krennic expects resistance or discomfort to show on Galen's face, but he sees neither. Galen's eyes remain closed. Lines of color warm his cheeks. His face hollows in, evidence of his effort. 

Krennic does not expect Galen to be able to work him all the way down. It isn't bravado - all right, it's partially that. But Galen must lack practice. Years have passed since their dalliances. As far as Krennic knows, Galen has had no other opportunity to practice these habits.

He marvels when the hand at the base of his cock peels away, replaced by Galen’s mouth . Finally, Krennic hears a sound of struggle. A slight choke in the back of Galen’s throat. Krennic wipes a line of wetness from a corner of his lips. “Easy now, Galen,” Krennic encourages. He speaks because he has to. To remain silent is to show vulnerability, which Krennic cannot afford. It takes great effort to keep his voice steady.

Galen’s lips nudge against him. His throat constricts to allow for Krennic's length. Concentration lines his forehead. His exhales huff warm on Krennic's stomach. Krennic curls an encouraging fist against the back of his head.

With an uncomfortable grunt, Galen releases him. Krennic’s erection pops free, thick red and slick from his mouth. A flush of effort warms Galen’s face. 

Krennic steadies his weight against the desk, the cut of the table’s edge more helpful than nuisance now. The discomfort helps him muster amusement at his old friend's scowl. "There now," Krennic murmurs. “We can’t have you hurt yourself, can we?” He sweeps knuckles against Galen's cheek.

Galen glances up at him, and Krennic’s expression falters. There is determination in that stare. A promise so sure, Krennic’s wit evades him.

A moment is all Galen has ever needed. With renewed vigor, he lowers his head. A quiet sound of _enjoyment_ rumbles from him as he gathers Krennic’s cock between his lips again. Krennic shudders, the table cutting into his skin. He touches Galen’s hair because it’s all he can do, graying strands fisted as a reminder of who is in control at this moment. Who will always be in control.

Galen’s face seems to grow hotter at the touch. He tilts his head into the gloved fingers. His mouth slacks wider, urging more of Krennic into him. His throat is tight, shifting, working him in. Wet and hot, aided by the persistent curl of his tongue. His lips are wet from his own saliva. Panted breaths cool on the base of Krennic’s abdomen.

“You’re-” Krennic stops abruptly, because the next sound that threatens will not be a word at all. He pushes his fist on the back of Galen’s head. Krennic tries to be gentle about it, already stuttering under the rub of Galen’s nose against his stomach. Galen's early stubble rasps against Krennic’s balls. His face is set with determination; eyes closed, expression studious.

Krennic isn’t expecting the hands that flatten between his thighs. It’s Krennic who chokes, the startled sound lapsing into a short grunt. His waist jumps from the desk, met by a tight sound and frantic turn of Galen’s head. Krennic hits the back of his throat and knows it. For a second, his revelry gives way to concern. But he hears no gagging and sees no sign of distress. Just a deeper concentration on Galen's face. His always-brilliant Galen, fixated on an end goal that Krennic is finding it harder and harder to deny him.

Krennic cannot believe this is happening. Galen is the Empire's again, _his_ again. Finally, after all this time, it’s the end Krennic always knew they would have. Galen, seeing reason. Krennic, in control. Everything coming together, as Krennic always knew it would.

Krennic hooks a hand over the edge of the desk. The wood is a necessity now, knees too pliant to hold his weight. Galen has been down on him far too long, how is he _managing_ it? “You’re...quite good,” Krennic commends between breaths. “I’d forgotten.”

Galen’s mouth twitches at the comment, and Krennic feels it - a butterfly flutter around oversensitive skin. His hum ravages Krennic's cock, too-deep and low. Heat builds under the collar of Krennic's uniform. His hands shiver in the gloves rasping down Galen’s scalp. Krennic's hair is out of place, sloping over his sweat-touched brow.

Galen’s hands venture further, planting in the small of Krennic’s back. The fingers leave their mark, knuckles sweeping against his cape. Krennic stands up straighter, thrusting into the mouth intent on keeping him whole. Galen’s head bobs deliciously, neck pulled tight. He holds Krennic inside as Krennic hisses. His face turns against his shoulder, and his eyes shut for one second - the moment he comes down the back of Galen’s throat. 

He does not expect Galen to spit, but it’s still a marvel to _watch_ him swallow. Galen drags on Krennic's shaft, drinking his orgasm with a simple sigh. When he releases Krennic, he rests his forehead on a thigh, his eyes hidden by hair sweeping his forehead. Krennic's uniform jacket has been rucked up by the hands still flat on his back. Galen's mouth is pink and damp. His face is warm as he catches his breath.

“Well done,” Krennic murmurs. He sounds too satisfied, quiet and clearly shaken. 

“Are you convinced?” Galen asks. His voice has been stripped raw. The ragged sound makes Krennic's eyes darken.

“It’s a start,” Krennic tells him. He does so while peeling up his underwear, trying not to mind the wetness as he fastens himself back into his pants. A shower will follow soon, but a return to decorum is necessary for now.

Galen doesn’t seem surprised by the answer. “We have time,” Galen decides. With this, he shows himself out of Krennic’s office. No final parting touch, no kiss. Not even a word of farewell.

Krennic watches him leave. His breaths are still labored, the sting of the desk’s edge ever-present at his back. The minutes drag on. Goosebumps rise on his skin as he basks in the memory of Galen Erso on his knees.

It’s more than a start, Krennic admits to himself. What a dangerous game this is sure to be. 

*The End*


End file.
